


Cameras

by wolfport



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Episode: e148 Extended Surveillance (The Magnus Archives), Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, No beta we die like archival assistants, could honestly be read as romantic or platonic, i'm. so sorry for this. this got out of hand. it really did., im not gonna say MAJOR character death but like. yeah., reader's gender isnt specified at all, the OFC is literally just a cashier mentioned in one line, the eye doesnt care about gender it just wants to see you. and isnt that an ideal relationship!, um. samson stiller is the name of the security camera guy from mag 148. if you were curious., yeah. so. thats that i guess.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29578119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfport/pseuds/wolfport
Summary: You've started to frequent a shopping center as of late. The cameras seem to take notice.
Relationships: Reader/Samson Stiller, The Beholding (The Magnus Archives)/Reader
Kudos: 10





	Cameras

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest. I wrote this at 3AM a couple weeks ago because I couldn't stop thinking about how funky this episode was. I don't think there's any typos or major grammatical errors? But I'm not sure. Anyway. Thanks for reading this lol<3

The shopping center was just like any other you had been in before. A collection of knick-knacks here, general drug store items there. It was, by all means, completely ordinary. You were there on just a quick run to pick up some over-the-counter medicine for your friend. A simple enough task in a simple enough place. Except it wasn’t that simple. It never really is that simple, is it?

Every time you step around a new corner or into an aisle, every time you pick up an item, you can feel eyes on you. Like you were being watched. It sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel your muscles tense up as you warily looked around, trying (and, in your tension, failing) to be discreet.

Eventually, you looked into a security camera that, for no apparent reason, was aimed at a nearly empty corner of the store. No valuables were set there, nothing that would be worth stealing at least. The only thing to note in that location was you. You looked into that camera and for just a brief moment you could feel the eye beyond it.

Keeping your eyes on the camera, you walked around a bit, slowly leaving that section of the store and towards a more populated area. Its gaze followed you as you paced around, and you could feel the eye behind it looking through your skin into your very bones.

You paid for your items very quickly after that.

It had been a few days since your visit to the shopping center, but you still couldn’t get that camera off your mind. Ever since your brush with that creeping fear, it was like you were addicted. Any place you went you looked around for cameras and, though you should’ve felt relief, could feel a sharp pang of disappointment creep up whenever they weren’t aimed at you.

This was a problem. It wasn’t like you were particularly more vain than the next person, nor more attractive. And you also weren’t looking for a relationship, anyway. But something drew you to that camera, and within the week you were back at the shopping center with your poor excuse of a list as a reason to be there.

The moment you stepped indoors you could feel those eyes on you. You smiled. When those little machines were staring you down, it felt like they could see your soul, and it was a gift.

There is a certain comfort in revealing deep parts of yourself to near-strangers. It’s part of what makes therapy so appealing -- an uninvolved person who can help fix your mess or make you fix it yourself. But even that relationship is transactional; you pay, and they diagnose and solve. It is not a relationship born out of mutual affection on even ground.

Letting those cameras crawl into every crevice of your mind was different than therapy, and so much more rewarding. You wanted to be known, to submit to that mortifying ordeal.

Every time you walked in, you gave up a piece of your anonymity. You were known, and you weren’t analyzed nor solved. You were simply catalogued away. Not once did you have a conversation; the understanding from those eyes ran deeper than that. You let them crawl through your veins, your synapses, your every thought and memory. The Eye- the entity- the person behind those cameras knew your childhood fears, they knew your deepest regrets. And they did not critique, did not advise, did not judge. They simply knew.

And it was freeing.

You spent more and more time at the shopping center. The next time you walk in the store, you smile at the camera. It turns away from you, averts its gaze, and for that brief moment your blood runs cold. You cease to exist. You are not being seen, you are not being observed. You are alone. And it’s the most deathly experience you’ve had in your life.

You remember how much you used to embrace your anonymity. To some extent, you still do. But there? In that stronghold on the Eye? You should not feel empty. You want to be watched, to be seen, to be known.

Over the weeks, you’ve gotten to know some of the employees. You’ve also gotten to hear some gossip -- some about a cashier’s sister making it big somewhere, some about relationships and some… some were about security.

The woman at the counter mentioned something about the new (or, well, newer) security guards at the center. Specifically, she mentioned that one of them almost exclusively worked with the CCTV, all day and all night until he had to go home. She made some comments about how she constantly felt as if she was being watched, as if that were something to complain about.

Knowing that there was a someone behind those cameras was both exciting and, to some extent, disappointing. No pieces of humanity could ever truly know one another, though you supposed that someone so far from their mortality would be as close as you could get.

You did not want to set out to pursue the Man Behind the Cameras. That would be far too forward, especially for someone who was, by all means, still simply a customer. No. You would still go to the shopping center every day, though, and wander about the store, making sure to stay within line of sight of the cameras.

The cameras never overtly approached you, nor did the man behind them, but as time went on you noticed how the cameras would lock onto the moment you stepped in the store. They would pierce your skin, crawling underneath and mapping out your bones and veins. The eye behind them could see every exposed inch of you, and being known had never felt so relieving.

Next time you enter the shopping center, it’s dead. Nobody in there besides you and a couple of cashiers. Nobody.

No eyes.

No cameras following you.

Absolutely nobody.

You aren’t sure what to do with yourself anymore.


End file.
